


Saying Your Names

by babywarg (morphaileffect)



Series: Ironstrange Bingo [6]
Category: Doctor Strange (2016), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Magic, F/M, Kid Fic, Kid Pepper Potts, Kid Stephen Strange, Kid Tony Stark, M/M, Other, War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-01
Updated: 2019-04-07
Packaged: 2019-12-30 13:11:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 18,755
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18315923
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/morphaileffect/pseuds/babywarg
Summary: Fantasy AU. Stephen, a young Battlemage in training, meets two mysterious children and forms a mystical bond with them.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Arbonne](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arbonne/gifts).



> Written for the Ironstrange bingo square “Pepper Potts.” My first drpepperony fic!
> 
> Title inspired by [this awesome poem by Richard Siken](http://youngerpoets.yupnet.org/2008/04/17/saying-your-names-crush-by-richard-siken-2004-winner/). I feel a bit bad about borrowing it because the poem is lovely and deep and my fic...isn’t. But I suck at titles and it was just the first thing to come to mind that sounded right.
> 
> For the purpose of this fic, I’m making Stephen roughly the same age as Tony and Pepper. Which, in this installment, is 12 XD Just so that’s clear.
> 
> ^ Related to the above, I SERIOUSLY mulled over whether or not to check “Underage” as a warning for this fic, but then I read that AO3 doesn’t count kissing as sexual activity, so that particular box remained unchecked. Just to be safe, imma warn that there’s underage kissing in this chapter.

He was repeatedly told by his master that he was luckier than other apprentices - and even if he’d never met another Battlemage apprentice in his young life, he could believe it.

Stephen’s master was tough. But she was not cruel.

In this case, his master - the Ancient One - allowed him out of the Sanctum once a week. As long as he stayed within the confines of the forest that hid the Sanctum from civilization.

And as long as he steered clear of contact with other humans.

He took his master’s word for it that other Battlemage apprentices were not usually allowed out of the magical barriers of their master’s workshop, until they reached the age of 30. That was when, it was presumed, they were already fully in control of their powers, and wise enough from book-learning to know how to use their powers solely for the good of all.

But Stephen’s master had told him that he was precocious, that Stephen had greater control of his powers than other trainees of his age. Though Stephen was just 12, the Ancient One said, she trusted him to go out into the world and not accidentally kill someone. Or accidentally burn a village down, the way he almost did when he was small.

But one infraction - just one - and Stephen would be locked into the Sanctum until his training was done.

That was their deal.

There was usually just one child in every six generations born with enough magical ability to become a Battlemage. Each new Battlemage born, it was said, portended the arrival of a great war.

Battlemages sought each other out, and trained each other - that was the _only way_ they were able to prevent great wars from occurring. They taught themselves to control their power, to see all sides of any conflict, to see all possible futures and to lend their talents to the goal of achieving the best possible outcome.

Thus, they were precious. Stephen was precious. While he was still growing into his powers, he needed to be protected from the world.

And the world needed to be protected from him.

 

***

 

Stephen never ventured far from the forest’s center. Deep in the woods, the company of other humans was rare: he would only occasionally chance upon lone walkers, passing caravans - and once, a troop of knights returning home from battle.

All would be coming from or going to the city of Vers, the bustling center of the great kingdom of Aven - a city he had never been to.

He was born in a village far away from Vers, and was “rescued” by the Ancient One as a toddler: that village and the forest around the Sanctum was all he knew.

And when he found other humans in the forest, he hid from them - cast a spell over himself, sometimes, as the Ancient One had taught, to obscure him from their sight.

There were times, however, when he got distracted and forgot to cast the spell - like when he saw the traveling circus, with its magnificent colors and wondrous sounds. Or when a traveling bard made up a sad song, strumming his well-worn lute, to keep hunger at bay as he walked toward Vers.

Or when children his age burst into a meadow no children had entered into before.

There were two: a boy and a girl. The first with dark brown hair, the other with red.

As soon as he heard their voices from afar, Stephen hid behind the nearest large tree trunk. And waited until they were close enough before he peeked around the trunk to see them.

The children seemed to be playing a game. They were running around, laughing and yelling at each other.

Their familiarity struck Stephen as odd: were they enemies? Friends? If they were friends, why did they insult each other so often? Did they really have to mock each other’s _grandfathers_ like that?

Also, what were they _doing?_ They appeared to be trying to catch each other - but when one got caught, the pursuer pushed their face up close to the other person’s, while the other person laughed and swore and tried to wriggle away.

He couldn’t figure it out.

Mesmerized by the game, he wasn’t able to keep track of their erratic movements.

They were coming his way.

He stepped backward on impulse - and tripped on a gnarly, outstretched root.

He fell to the soft earth with a cry of alarm.

The children’s laughter abruptly stopped.

And before Stephen knew it, he was being lifted up from the ground by two small but strong pairs of hands.

“Kid, are you hurt?” a voice asked: the boy.

Stephen struggled to stay steady on his feet. He was taller than the two, but his skin was paler, his limbs thinner and less coordinated.

All those years being cooped up in the Sanctum probably did that to him: though smaller than Stephen, these two other children had glowing sun-tanned skin, tougher muscles.

“No.” He felt like shrinking under their stares.

“Were you spying on us?” was the next question. It came from the girl. She shifted her body as she asked this - and was that a fighting stance?

“No,” Stephen quickly said again. “I was just...passing through. And I didn’t know what you were doing, so I...I got curious.”

“Oh, that?” The boy waved one flippant hand in the air. “That was nothing. Just a stupid game she made up.”

“I did _not_ make it up,” the girl protested, momentarily diverted from her distrust. “We played it a lot when we were little! I just thought it would be nice to play it again one last time, you know?”

“One last time,” Stephen said tentatively, “before...?”

The girl shifted her attention back to him, squinted suspiciously. She seemed wary that he would ask something so familiar, when they had just met.

The boy, however, had no such qualms.

“She’s leaving soon for training,” he answered.

The girl sighed loudly, then supplied, “I’m going to become a knight.” She pulled herself up proudly. “Like my father and his mother before him.”

“She’s going first, but I’m leaving Vers soon, too,” the (obviously chattier) boy interrupted, “to go to other kingdoms and study how to be a -- ”

The girl hit him on the shoulder with a balled fist.

_“-- oww!”_

“Is that what you call being careful?” she all but screamed at him.

“Relax,” he whined at her. “it’s not like anyone’ll send a scrawny little _kid_ to spy on us all the way out _here_.”

“I’m taller than you,” Stephen quietly retorted.

The two kids stared at him.

Then simultaneously burst into laughter.

Stephen didn’t know what was so funny. So he stood around awkwardly, waiting for them to explain.

“Look at him,” the boy cried. “He doesn’t like being called scrawny, but he’s okay with being called a spy!”

“Well,” the girl remarked, measuring his height and the boy’s with the side of her outstretched hand, “he’s right about not being scrawny, tiny.”

“Who’re you calling tiny?? You’re not that much taller!”

He pushed her. She pushed back. They resumed laughing.

Stephen felt out of place.

He didn’t know why he was still standing around. The two of them weren’t a threat, and he hadn’t done anything that would make him especially memorable to them (in his opinion).

While they were preoccupied, he could easily slip away from them, and slip back into the Sanctum without his master ever knowing.

But he was just contemplating that, when the boy asked:

“Hey, you wanna play?”

“Huh?” Stephen blinked. “Me?”

“Sure!” The boy glanced over to the girl. “He can join, right? Might be fun.”

The girl looked Stephen up and down. Most of her distrust from earlier seemed to have been dispelled by her and the boy’s recent laughing fit.

“If he doesn’t think it’s gross,” she cautiously answered, “why not? So it’s not just the two of us, for a change.”

Stephen didn’t get it. “Why would I think it’s gross?”

The boy grinned. A twinkle of mischief appeared in his eyes.

“See, how it works is,” the boy began, “one player is called ‘It.’ ‘It’ goes around trying to catch other players, and when they catch someone, they have to kiss them on the cheek. Then that player becomes the next ‘It’ until they kiss someone else, and it goes round and round like that.”

“That’s not all,” the girl scolded. “You have to say ‘tag, you’re it’ after you kiss them. If you just kiss them and run, it doesn’t count.”

“I keep telling you it _does_ count,” the boy argued. “You’re just really uptight about it.”

“Those are the _rules_ ,” the girl patiently argued back. “You just keep ignoring them.”

Stephen rubbed his forearm nervously. He had never played a game with other children before. “I...I don’t really know...” he started to confess.

“It’s really simple, and not gross at all,” the boy declared. “Like this.”

He stepped up to Stephen and planted a dry kiss on his cheek. _Smack._

Stephen stood rooted in place, stunned.

“Tag,” the boy crowed, “you’re it!” He was already starting to run.

“No fair getting a headstart!” the girl yelled after him. She began running away from Stephen, too.

And then Stephen had a choice.

He could wait for the children to get far enough away, then cast a vanishing spell on himself - spirit himself away. He could leave that meadow and never have to see the boy and girl again.

Or.

He could make someone else be ‘It’ first - and _then_ vanish.

But then...

He didn’t know what came over him.

His feet moved on their own, and he ran to catch the laughing children.

In the end, it didn’t feel like he had a choice at all.

 

***

 

This was risky. Stephen knew. The more time he spent with the children, the more they would remember him.

The greater the chance of his master finding out he broke the rules, and punishing him for it.

But after just a few minutes of running, Stephen didn’t care about rules or punishment. He was breathing hard, and blushing, and laughing more than he had ever laughed at any single time in his life.

He caught the girl first. She squealed and wrenched free of his weak grip right away.

She must have noticed: he wasn’t used to this game. He hadn’t held on to her as tightly as he should have, because he was afraid of hurting her.

So she stopped running and stood in front of him.

“Right here,” she said, pointing to her freckled right cheek, turning it in his direction.

Stephen was so stricken by how lovely she was, he forgot to breathe for a second.

But soon enough he remembered: he had to make the most of what little time he had.

He kissed her gently on the cheek. This earned him a shy chuckle.

“You didn’t say the words,” she reminded him, a note of fondness in her voice. “That doesn’t count!”

She sprinted off. Stephen watched her go, bewildered.

 _“Hey, over here!”_ Stephen heard from nearby.

It was the boy, waving his arms at Stephen, taunting him.

“Bet you can’t catch me!” the boy challenged, before running off.

That was his mistake. Stephen had caught his breath. He could run again.

And he realized his spindly legs were actually an advantage: he had a longer stride than the boy or the girl did. He actually caught up to the boy sooner than either of them expected.

He wasn't afraid of hurting anyone anymore. He tackled the boy to the ground.

“Oof,” the boy groaned, wriggling under Stephen’s weight.

Stephen knew he didn’t weigh that much and the boy would be able to free himself quickly. So he wasted no time.

He bent down to kiss the boy.

In his haste, he didn’t even check if the boy’s face was turned.

Their lips met.

It was the briefest contact. But when they broke apart, the surprised boy’s eyes were large as plates.

His bright, beautiful brown eyes.

“Tag,” Stephen remembered to say, “you’re it.”

The boy laughingly pushed Stephen off him and into the grass, then rolled onto Stephen and pinned him down by the shoulders.

“Doesn’t count anywhere else on the face, you know,” the boy said with unmistakable affection - much like the girl did. Then added, “...Well, whatever.” And kissed Stephen on the cheek. “Tag, you’re it, stupid.”

The boy rolled off Stephen, and onto his feet. As he ran from Stephen, his laughter rang through the meadow.

 

***

 

An hour later, the three of them were flat on their backs in the middle of the meadow, catching their breaths.

Stephen had been the one to stop first, naturally. So much physical activity was just not an everyday thing, for him.

But the boy and the girl had been playing the game for a while, before he stepped into it. They were well and truly winded.

They lay side by side on the grass, faces turned to the sky, their little growing bodies cooling down.

Eventually one of them broke the comfortable silence.

“What’s your name?” said the boy, who had propped himself up on one elbow and faced Stephen. “I’m Tony.”

 _Tony._ The name echoed in Stephen’s heart, like a pebble dropped in a very still pool, disturbing it forever.

That could only mean one thing.

The girl’s eyes went wide. She pushed herself to sit up, and punched her friend in the arm again.

 _“Don’t give him your mother-name!”_ she cried.

“What?” the boy said, flinching away from her and rubbing his arm. “He’s a kid, like us. What’s he gonna do with it?”

“I dunno, _tell older people_?” She sounded genuinely fearful. “People who can hurt you? You _know_ you have to be careful...”

Tony rolled his eyes. “You know what, Pep? You’re as paranoid as your dad.”

“Well, that’s because you’re not paranoid _enough_.”

Stephen sat up as well, addressed Tony: “You -- did you just use her mother-name -- “

“No,” the girl sighed, annoyed. “That was just my nickname. It doesn’t work if you don’t say the whole thing, right?”

Stephen knew that, of course, but he had to be sure.

She faced Stephen, herself, and smiled confidently. “By the way, mine’s Pepper.”

Her smile was so radiant, it almost made Stephen overlook the feeling he got from hearing her mother-name.

\- the feeling that his heart hadn’t even recovered from the first pebble, and in dropped another one.

“I’m,” he said, breathless, “I’m Stephen.”

Besides himself (and of course the woman who gave birth to him) only the Ancient One knew Stephen’s mother-name - the name given by all mothers to a child upon birth. The name which, some believed, children themselves tell their mothers soul to soul, for safekeeping.

The name which could be used to control one’s feelings.

He didn’t even know the Ancient One’s mother-name.

And now these two children whom he had just met that day, knew his.

They weren’t magic-users, presumably. Was there a way for them to know he had given them something so precious?

The books said yes. The books said some people could tell, though they were born without magic.

And Tony laughed triumphantly.

“See? He gave us his mother-name, too.” He faced Pepper just to gloat. “I have a _feeling_ about people. Sometimes, Pep, you gotta trust me a little.”

Pepper didn’t answer. She was looking into Stephen’s eyes.

“Stephen,” she said slowly. “That’s a pretty name.”

Tony chuckled. “It is, isn’t it?” he acceded. “Stephen...sounds a little strange. Like...magic, kinda.”

Stephen looked at his new friends, an unfamiliar warmth building in his chest.

Their mother-names were Tony and Pepper.

They rolled their eyes at each other frequently, and then laughed about it afterwards.

Sometimes they hurt each other, without ever really _meaning_ to hurt. And later, one always asked if the other was all right.

He liked them.

A lot.

But the warmth in his chest was starting to overwhelm him. His very proximity to them was starting to burn.

Inside his heart was a pool. There were two new embers in it.

They had set the pool on fire.

“I’m s-sorry,” he stammered, scrambling to his feet, “I have to go...”

Tony protested. Pepper did, too. But their voices were dissolving behind the noise in his ears, the noise that told him to _gogogo nownownow_

This was a mistake. A mistake he was going to pay for.

Tony got on his feet and started after Stephen. But Pepper held him back.

Stephen made sure he was well out of sight of the two other children before he opened a portal back to the Sanctum, and stepped through it.

He made sure to close it behind him as soon as he felt himself surrounded by the familiar stillness of the Sanctum’s sitting room.

Stephen snapped his fingers, activating the fireplace. He sat close to the magical fire, hugging his knees, trembling slightly.

He had to calm down. Wait for his master.

Pretend nothing had happened to change his life that day.

But for a long time, it felt pointless. The warmth in his chest wouldn’t cool.

And he couldn’t stop thinking of the way Tony’s mouth felt against his. Pepper’s blue eyes shining as she smiled at him.

 

***

 

His master knew. Of course she did.

She knew as soon as she laid eyes on him.

He had, according to her, the look of a person who had just given away something precious. A living part of him. To thrive somewhere else.

This meant he had broken their compact.

And, as a consequence, he was not to leave the Sanctum until she said he could.

More than that, the Sanctum would need to be relocated. Permanently.

“It will take time to undo what you have done,” she told him. “Too much time. Time that you must dedicate to your studies.”

“There’s a way to undo it?” Stephen hazarded to ask.

“There is, but it’s not in your hands.” He might have imagined it, but she almost sounded sorry for him then. “The person who knows your mother-name, must forget it. That is the only time they will lose their hold on you. Battlemages may be able to do many things - but making people forget is not one of them.”

She said, she wouldn’t ask him for the identities of the people to whom he’d given his mother-name. She could have taken them from him even without asking for permission - but instead, she decided she would leave him to suffer the consequences of his actions.

If, someday, his decision would end up causing him harm, it was his to deal with alone.

In the meantime, her task was to keep him safe from the world. And the world from him.

As she said all this, and more, Stephen simply hung his head.

There were times when he even saw the Ancient One as his surrogate mother - but not at times like this. Today she was his master, and he her delinquent apprentice.

When there were no more words, she cast the necessary spells onto the Sanctum.

First, a spell of _shifting_. To transfer everything to another forest, high up a mountain he had never even heard of, far away from the city of Vers.

Then, a spell of _binding_. So he could not leave.

 

***

 

What he did not tell his master was that he already knew how to project his astral form - therefore, the binding spell could not trap him completely in the Sanctum.

It was just one of the many skills he practiced in secret. She would find out, come the time - but until then, he would get away with as much as he could.

At night, when he was supposed to be sleeping, he separated his spirit from his body, and let it travel.

Back to the meadow where he and Tony and Pepper once played.

His scope, however, was limited. He could only travel to places he had already been to, and had conscious knowledge of.

At that phase of his life, this meant only the forest near Vers.

He could not see Tony and Pepper in their homes. He had never seen the city, never been to any of the places within it. His spirit could not go to places that it did not know.

So he lingered in the meadow. And waited.

His patience would only be rewarded many weeks later.

Tony would come back - in a thick hood and cape, darkly colored so as to camouflage him.

The cloth should have been dense enough to keep out the night chill, but Tony still kept his arms wrapped around himself.

“Stephen,” Tony said into the air of the meadow.

Though his corporeal body was nowhere nearby - Stephen felt his heart jump, just a little.

“I feel like you’re here,” Tony continued. “You’re here, right? Only, I can’t see you.”

Stephen’s astral form hesitated. There shouldn’t have been a way for Tony to feel his presence.

...but now that Tony had his mother-name, perhaps things no longer worked the way they were supposed to.

He didn’t reply. Couldn’t, even if he wanted to.

After a long silence, Tony sighed.

“Maybe not,” he admitted to himself. “But it feels good to be here, right now, so...”

He sat on the grass, then lay himself flat on his back. The way he did on their first and last day together.

The best Stephen could do was to lay his astral form beside Tony’s - hoping that somehow, the nearness could help Tony better feel him there.

“So Pepper went away.” Tony tried hard to sound cheerful - he always did, Stephen realized. Always. “And it hurts...more than I thought it would. But see - it wasn’t _supposed_ to hurt. We’ve been talking about her going off to train for knighthood since we were little. She was so excited on the day she left. I should be happy for her - and I am.”

Tony folded his arms tightly across his chest, as if talking made him uncomfortable all of a sudden.

“But I’m all alone now. She left, and you left, too. Is this how it feels when someone who knows your mother-name, goes away?”

He wouldn’t have been able to answer. Tony and Pepper were the first people he had ever voluntarily told his mother-name to. The Ancient One simply _knew_.

“I wonder if she’s hurting, too. I don’t want that for her,” Tony kept on saying. “And if you’re hurting, I don’t want that for you. So I guess, maybe...” Unexpectedly, his voice broke. And something inside Stephen broke as well. “...if you could just come out here sometime...and hold my hand, the way she used to...and tell me you’re fine, that everything’s fine...that would sure be great. Because then, maybe I’ll be fine, too.”

He threw an arm over his eyes. And as Stephen watched, his entire body started to shake.

Stephen couldn’t understand how, despite the lack of a body, he felt like he was being torn apart.

As he watched over a boy he didn’t even know - and at the same time, knew more intimately than anyone.

_Tony._

_Don’t cry. Please._

He reached out to touch Tony’s face, and his hand passed through unnoticed.

He curled up beside Tony, lying quietly beside the boy as he wept. His astral form experienced no physical sensation, but he could almost feel the grass; the feel and smell of it were still fresh in his mind.

He lay there until Tony was out of tears to cry.

He stayed with Tony while the boy wiped his face clean, got to his feet, and left the meadow, without another word.

He remembered that Tony mentioned he would also be leaving soon, for other kingdoms.

That meant Tony might never go back to that meadow.

He stayed with Tony until the edge of the forest, where he had never been, and therefore could no longer go beyond.

 

***

 

When Stephen returned to his body, he resolved to do one thing:

He was going to undo the damage, as the Ancient One had said.

It was going to take time, for sure - but maybe he could speed it along -

\- by burying himself in his studies, and forgetting _their_ names first.

His decision to share his mother-name was _already_ causing him pain. He suffered through this, at a tender age: the memories that used to make him happy, began to bring tears to his eyes.

 _Tony._ The rich sound of his laughter.

 _Pepper._ The way sunlight shone in her hair.

Their names. His name on their lips. The warmth of their skin.

Anything could happen between now, and when he was freer to explore the world.

He might never see them again.

So he had to forget them. They had to forget him, too.

It was the only way to heal.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 14 years later, Stephen steps into the middle of a war as a full-fledged Battlemage. 
> 
> He finds his old friends in the heat of battle, and engages their help with a plan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wasn’t supposed to post a new chapter today, but learning that [AO3 was recently nominated for a Hugo award](https://archiveofourown.org/admin_posts/12419) motivated me :D
> 
> GO AO3. KEEP BREAKING THE LIMITS OF HUMAN IMAGINATION, YOU BEAUTIFUL REBELS.
> 
> I don’t know what a head knight is called...but the best part of this being a fantasy AU is that I can use whatever name I want :D I chose “Knight Captain” because it just _rolls_ off the tongue, doesn’t it?

He mastered scrying spells much earlier than expected. As a result, he quickly gained access to the highest-tier foreseeing spells. At age 26, he was able to see the many forms war would take within his natural lifetime.

But at age 26, he was also, sadly, too late to stop anything from happening.

War was coming.

A conqueror from another continent named Thanos was fast approaching Aven, with armies gathered from all over. He was taking other kingdoms closer to the northern coast, and making his way inland.

If the danger was imminent, the Ancient One, with her greater experience as a Battlemage, would have sensed it.

It was not imminent...but it was already unstoppable.

He saw this much.

And he saw something else...

He saw other figures central to the conflict. Two of them were familiar.

He still knew their names.

He recognized the relentless sparkle in his brown eyes - the steady light in her blue ones.

Just seeing them again, after so long, made his chest hurt.

But he also saw their possible futures, all the things in store for them through many versions of the same war.

And because he did...

It was impossible for him not to join the fight.

 

***

 

He faced the Ancient One wearing his red cloak, his blue traveling robes.

He wanted her to know he was ready to go.

“You’ve found your mission,” she remarked. The tone of her voice was unreadable.

“Yes,” he acknowledged.

The Ancient One looked him straight in the eye. “You know what this means.”

“I can only return when my mission is finished,” Stephen replied, lowering his gaze respectfully. “And when I return, I will take over the Sanctum.”

There was some merit to the reclusive nature of Battlemage apprenticeship: the master’s workshop, the Sanctum, was a magical place, forever changing shape and contents, with only a few rooms solid and stable. One could spend entire lifetimes in it and never be able to memorize all its nooks and crannies.

To Stephen, it was like living in another world - one that was familiar enough to call home. And going safely home after a successful mission would be the best kind of reward.

“Until the next Battlemage can take it over from you,” the Ancient One supplied. “You know what will happen if you fail in your mission.”

It felt like he was being made to recite an oath. Stephen nodded.

“My mission is to prevent wide-scale destruction, no matter the cost. I can only fail if I die before this.” A corner of his lip rose wryly. “And if I do, you’ll get to stick around a little longer, to fix what I couldn’t.”

The Ancient One returned a half-smile.

It was a joke they shared. She had been around for several generations, keeping herself alive through healing magic - because the two Battlemages before him, whom she had also trained, had both failed in their tasks.

As their master, she stepped into the shoes they left behind, ended war and restored order as best she could.

This was not easy - in fact, it was arduous for an aged Battlemage, though magic kept her steps sprightly and her appearance relatively youthful.

And losing apprentices, whose mother-names she knew, always scarred her deeply.

But if the thought of another student failing caused her distress, she didn’t show it. She had never liked to seem vulnerable.

“I shouldn’t have to tell you,” she said in a lightly playful tone, “how that would be the worst possible outcome.”

He bowed his head. She laid a hand on his shoulder.

“Are you ready for this, Stephen?" she asked. "Or should I say, Master Strange.”

“I’m ready,” he quietly answered. “It’s time.”

 

***

 

He lied.

There was something he wasn't completely ready for:

What if they remembered him?

It had been 14 years, and they had only been together for a day.

The odds were slim.

...But what if they did?

The risk was in their remembering his mother-name - the one he’d foolishly given them as a child, in a moment of ignorance and weakness.

If they did, that meant they had the ability to manipulate his emotions.

That was something he couldn’t afford.

Yet...there was a chance he would be safe, even if they remembered.

The beliefs surrounding “mother-names” had been around since time immemorial - but there was no one book in the Sanctum’s formidable library documenting a study of it. No way to know if the lore about it was true.

There was still a part of him that believed the concept of mother-names was folklore - a self-fulfilling prophecy. No magic was involved in it, only _belief_.

A particularly ill-tempered woman could name her child “Fartface,” and claim the child had told her that, themselves, soul to soul. Would such a name still have power...?

But Stephen’s master believed in the power of mother-names, and had instilled the _fear_ of that power in him. As a Battlemage, _no one person_ should be able to control him.

Even if Stephen didn’t completely believe in the power behind mother-names, she said to him, he shouldn’t expose himself to such a risk.

Battlemages existed for one singular purpose: to foresee and prevent catastrophic events. They were born alone, and died alone.

He needed to be prepared for this.

For both being remembered, and not being remembered.

 

***

 

His powers had grown vastly. He could teleport to places he had never been. And so he stepped out of the Sanctum for the first time in 14 years -

\- into a battlefield.

Where, clearly, one side was losing.

He was not in Aven, but a kingdom several days’ ride away.

Dead bodies were everywhere. But he had seen enough blood in his studies to not be shocked.

He found what he was looking for almost immediately: a young man, about his age, with dark brown hair, facing off against a giant. With just a sword in hand.

That giant had a name: Thanos. Conqueror. Plunderer. Murderer.

The young man also had a name.

One that Stephen had no license to speak aloud.

He had no time to waste. He ran toward the dark-haired young man and his nemesis.

He opened a magical portal, ran through -

\- and exited just between Thanos and his prey.

He quickly put up a shield made of light - stronger than any metal so far known to man.

The shield repelled the giant’s attack. Thanos fell back from the barrier reeling.

Stephen said to the stunned young man on his side of the barrier:

“King Stark of Aven - my name is Strange. I need you to come with me.”

Then, before the young man could react, Stephen took him by the arm.

He opened another portal close by, and jumped into it, pulling the young man behind him.

The shield he’d put up vanished as soon as the two of them did.

 

***

 

_“What the hell is wrong with you?”_

The young man - not any ordinary young man, but a king, the lone ruling monarch of Aven - pulled his arm off Stephen’s grip with an indignant force.

It was Stephen’s turn to be stunned.

He had teleported them into an abandoned farmhouse in another kingdom - a safe place, far from civilization.

He wasn’t expecting gratitude...but the hostility was a surprise.

There was only one emotion in Stark’s eyes, as he kept his gaze steady on Stephen’s face:

Anger.

“I had him,” Stark fumed. _“I had him.”_

Stephen frowned.

“No, you didn’t,” he pointed out. “ _He_ had _you_. His weapon was aimed at your throat. Consider the obvious difference in strength: even if you’d blocked the strike with your little sword, it would have shattered on impact. If I hadn’t gotten between the two of you, you would certainly have died.”

He deliberately softened his tone.

“And we can’t have that. You’re much too important...”

_To me._

“...to what’s about to take place.”

Stark paced back and forth in that cold little room, working out his anger. He must have known, through his outrage, that it was not smart to fight with a person who had both the ability to see the many different outcomes of war, and to teleport him to somewhere much less pleasant.

Stephen quietly watched him. As Stark dealt with his feelings, Stephen found himself having to manage some of his own.

It seemed to him as if King Stark - no, Tony, _his_ Tony - hadn’t changed much.

He was just older - grimmer - darker and harder all around. But the energetic, bright-eyed boy he met all those years ago was still somewhere inside.

Over their many years apart, Stephen had changed greatly. He was no longer the shy, odd child that two carefree friends took under their wing. He now had the confidence of one who had seen a lot, learned a lot, and was prepared to seize destiny by the reins.

And Tony didn’t recognize him.

“Strange...is it?” he said to Stephen. “You’re a Battlemage, aren’t you?”

Tony didn’t remember him at all.

“Yes,” he calmly replied. “If the ability to open a magical portal and drag your ass through it wasn’t enough to tip you off.”

Stark resumed pacing.

“Could’ve been nicer about it,” he loudly grumbled. “Could’ve, I dunno, _asked_ for permission first, Instead of just whisking me off to who knows where.”

“Permission to save your life?” Stephen raised an eyebrow. “Sorry, I was in a bit of a rush. No time to watch my manners.”

“And you know what? I could’ve used you out there.” Definitely not in a bantering mood. “Aren’t offensive spells the specialty of your kind?”

 _“Your kind.”_ There was a mildly derogatory tone there. Stephen decided to ignore it.

“Yes,” he slowly answered, “but I didn’t need them to get you to safety, which was all I had to do. You’d already ordered your soldiers to retreat - I doubt just the two of us could have taken on Thanos and his army.”

It was true - a Battlemage was strong, but not strong enough to single-handedly defeat a horde. Those who tried, found their magic overtaxed...or worse.

They were still human. Their advantage as allies lay mainly in their ability to _see_ things on the battlefield, that ordinary humans could not.

“Making the call to retreat - that was a wise decision, by the way. I saw that most of the dead bodies were not wearing Aven colors; that tells me you were able to send your men away in time. Thanos could have pulverized the lot of you if you didn't think on your feet.”

Tony was about to argue with him on this again, but a sharp pain shot through him. He winced.

The way he pressed his clenched fist to the side of his chest told Stephen all he needed to know.

“Your ribs must be broken,” he remarked. “Let me...”

He laid a hand on Stark’s arm tentatively; this time, it was not shrugged off. The pain must have been too much.

He led Stark to a stone bench where he could sit, while Stephen knelt in front of him, inspecting the damage.

Stark should have no call to doubt that Stephen only wanted to keep him safe. People skills might not have been part of his schooling, but healing spells were.

 

***

 

Yet healing spells could only do so much. On top of being moderately wounded, Stark was undernourished, dehydrated and sorely in need of sleep.

Stephen wondered how the man even had the strength to delude himself into thinking he could _take_ Thanos head-on. Prior to that encounter, Stark and his army had been traveling for days, running on limited provisions. And as it turned out, Stark had given most of his share to his soldiers.

He needed to recover for a few days, before Stephen could bring him home to Aven. And as it turned out, the farmhouse was a decent recovery facility.

In a quiet place, Stark was a quiet man. That struck Stephen as unexpected. When he first saw Stark on the battlefield, Stephen could almost _see_ the nervous energy radiating out of him.

But here, as he rested, upon orders of his rescuer and “doctor”, Stark was thoughtful and still.

It suited him.

“I remember you said I was important to what’s going to happen,” he said to Stephen. “You’re not going to tell me what it is, are you?”

Stephen shook his head. It was pointless to be dishonest.

“The future changes constantly. With each new development, a different future takes shape. I can’t tell you what it is, because I don’t know it yet.”

“Each new development,” Stark echoed grimly. “You mean, when I didn’t die on that battlefield.”

Stephen hesitated.

 “...Yes.”

He was sure the scrying methods that Battlemages employed were unknown to ordinary humans...

But he was still surprised that Stark understood immediately.

(It seemed Stark was going to surprise him every step of the way. For now, just being in Stark’s presence made Stephen’s visions of the future blurry - as if every time the man moved, opened his mouth, or even breathed, many little things changed.

(Stark was an unpredictable factor. Stephen had to take this into consideration.)

“I’m going to argue with you on something,” Stark was saying. “I think you should have let me die. Maybe then, this war would end sooner.”

Stephen narrowed his eyes.

“How can you say that?” he asked softly.

A look of raw guilt crossed Stark’s face, and it felt at first that he wasn’t going to answer. But he did, after a long pause.

“A long time ago, I left home,” he said, not looking at Stephen. “I traveled to many different kingdoms, learning how to rule, learning how we could better defend ourselves. I learned how to make the deadliest, most efficient defense weapons for Aven. I thought that would be enough.

“But if weapons could kill to defend, they could also kill to invade. Some of Thanos’ generals use my weapons to slaughter people. _My weapons_ , my own designs. I set out with my soldiers to destroy as many of them as I could.”

“Why do it yourself?” Stephen challenged. “You could have sent - “

Wait. He couldn’t say the name.

Shouldn’t even know about it.

“ - your best fighters,” Stephen finished instead. “Strike teams. It would have been lower profile.”

“My best fighters,” Stark quickly rebutted, “I keep at home. Our spies abroad learned that Thanos ultimately plans to take over Aven - and once he does, he’ll become the most powerful _thing_ in the continent.

“I thought that if I could go out and weaken his armies, he wouldn’t get as far as that...but my best soldiers have to stay and protect the kingdom, in case I fail.”

It had no chance of working - in fact, he’d prevented the only possible outcome, which was Stark dying - but listening to Stark talk, it seemed as if he truly believed this was the best course of action.

As if he believed that the upcoming siege of Aven was truly his fault.

“Stupid and suicidal,” Stephen scoffed. “As soon as you set out to destroy his armories, confronting Thanos himself was inevitable. You were already doomed to fail. You can’t see into the future like I can, but you’re smart: surely you must have known this.”

“He wouldn’t have gotten hold of overpowered weapons in the first place, if not for me,” Stark loudly argued. “And if I die, there won’t be any new weapons - not for Aven, not for anyone.”

Stephen blinked. He was telling Stark he didn’t need to die.

Was Stark seriously fighting him on this?

“Now you’re just being arrogant,” Stephen pointed out. “Do you think others couldn’t replicate your weapons even after you’re dead? They’re already out there - other hands have built them, and other hands can build them again. This war will keep going with or without you.

“And what if you were captured alive? That brain you’re so resentful of, that skillful brain that birthed so many instruments of defense - it would be forced into the service of insane conquerors and their ambitions. Regardless of how _sorry_ you feel about what you _think_ you’ve done, there _is_ a possibility that you can do even worse.”

 _“Then what do you suggest?”_ Stark yelled in frustration. “What do you suggest, Battlemage? I’m out of ideas. Thanos has laid entire nations to waste, and he’s advancing to my kingdom, all with _my help_. This time, I want to know how to stand in his way.”

This marked the end of the quiet. Stephen took note of the chaos in Stark’s voice, and decided it was time to flow with it.

He told Stark about his plan - his mission, except Stark didn’t need to know about it in this context. Stark forced himself to stay quiet and listen, up to a point when he had to object.

“I don’t want an empire,” he said sharply.

“No one’s talking about an empire,” was the calm response. “Empire is a dream of the power-mad. I’m talking about a coalition of kingdoms - armies strengthened by _your_ knowledge and _your_ weapons, fighting back against Thanos together.

“A strategic wall to drive Thanos back...and later, an accord that will ensure peace among those kingdoms. You say you want to stand in his way? It can be done. But no one king can do it alone.“

Stark fell silent again, digesting this new idea.

A slow wave of affection for Stark in a quiet, pensive mood lapped at Stephen’s heart.

“You’ve been consumed by your own guilt,” Stephen said to him quietly. “But without it, you could have thought of this yourself. You could have seen that there’s no better way.”

The shadow over Stark’s face lifted, just a little. For a moment, the briefest of moments, he seemed grateful.

“Say we go with this,” he asked Stephen, “can I count on your help?”

Stephen nodded.

“Always,” he readily answered.

 

***

 

Thankfully, Stark recovered quickly. Only a few days later, he was well enough to be brought home to Aven - before his army could arrive on horseback from far away, to tell everyone that he must have died going up against Thanos alone.

Their sudden, unannounced arrival at the throne room caused a stir. The handful of knights gathered there, apparently in a secret strategy meeting, immediately jumped into a defense formation and drew their swords.

“Easy, everyone,” Stark said, stepping out of the magic portal ahead of Stephen, hands up in a gesture of surrender. “It’s just me.”

One of the knights, a young woman with long, unbound red hair falling across her armored shoulders, gave a signal, and the others put down their weapons.

Stephen stopped short when he saw her. She was even more beautiful in person, than she was in his visions.

He remembered to close the portal, at least.

As he watched, the young woman rushed toward Stark, and threw her arms around his neck.

Stark drew his arms around as much of her armor as he could.

That embrace lingered. When they broke apart, they stayed holding on to each other’s arms.

To the others in the room, Stark said, “I come in the company of a Battlemage, Master Strange.” Then he turned to Stephen, said, “Strange, I want to introduce you to the Knight Captain...”

“Knight Captain?” Stephen interrupted. “That means there's a Day Captain hereabouts?”

He might have misread the situation. It wasn’t time for a joke.

Stark grimaced disbelievingly and the young woman glared daggers at him.

(Seeing that look on her face, Stephen remembered a child who, at their first meeting, slid smoothly into a fighting stance and asked if he was a spy.

(It was her. It could be no one but her.

(Mistrusting him for the first time, all over again.)

“...and my intended,” Stark finished, deadpan. “Knight Captain Potts.”

Potts. He’d heard that name before, of course, in his visions of the future. But it would never sit right with him. It would never sound like _her_.

And...she was his intended.

Of course.

Stephen bowed deeply to show his respect. Potts nodded in acknowledgement, putting some of the daggers away.

“Give him the best quarters,” Stark directed to the knights. “He saved my life. Make him feel welcome.”

“All right,” Potts answered. “What about you? The soldiers sent word ahead that you -- “

“I’m fine,” he assured her. “Get rid of everyone. I’ll explain everything in private.”

She nodded, and finally let him go, walked back to her knights.

Stark’s tone of voice and body language said clearly that he trusted her - more than anyone else in the room, Stephen included. In her presence, he visibly relaxed.

After a brief conference, the knights took their leave of her, and dispersed to individually carry out her instructions.

“Please follow me, Master,” one of the knights told Stephen.

Stephen glanced back at Stark, who nodded, silently allowing him to take his leave.

At the very least, Stark’s unburdened expression assured Stephen that the person he was following wasn’t going to lead him to the dungeons.

 

***

 

They really did give him the best room. Stephen was used to relative austerity in the Sanctum - his master’s preference, he realized.

His bed had a canopy and luxurious linens. A large window to the east let in a fair amount of light. There was a fireplace, a washing area, a writing desk, couches for guests, and much room for walking.

Aven was a rich kingdom, he was always aware - it was a trade hub, in spite of being inland. But it was his first time in the central city of Vers, personally experiencing the luxury it afforded.

Servants brought him food - richer than the fare he was used to, and just _more_ of it. They also brought him a change of clothes - silk, for the most part.

The opulence made him somewhat uncomfortable.

He washed up, rested, meditated. He did his best to relax. The future was still shifting, and he needed to be centered, so his mind could keep up with its chaotic movements.

Presently, someone knocked on his door.

It was Knight Captain Potts - out of armor,  but in riding wear. She probably had places to go after speaking with him, and she was probably not expecting to speak with him long.

She stood at the doorway politely, only entered when he invited her in.

She closed the door after her.

“On behalf of the Knights of Aven,” she formally greeted, hands clasped behind her back, “I wish to thank you for returning our king to us in good health and high spirits.”

Then, less formally, she said, “And...from what he told me, it must not have been easy.”

Stephen noted the jubilant glimmer in her blue eyes. She was _happy_. Happy, perhaps, that Stark was home safe. Happy that they were back together.

Her joy was infectious.

“Damn right it wasn’t easy,” Stephen quipped, feeling more at ease all of a sudden. “Your king seems set on sacrificing himself for one thing or another. Unusual for someone in his profession.”

She sighed. It seemed he hit upon an old frustration of hers.

“He thinks the task of saving the kingdom is his alone to bear,” she confided. “While we knights of Aven accept King Stark’s nobility of spirit, and stay loyal to him because of it...it _does_ make our job of protecting him a lot harder.”

Stephen imagined it really _was_ difficult to be both Stark’s future wife and chief protector. Foolhardy as Stark had proven he could sometimes be.

He’d had a few days to know firsthand that caring for someone like Stark was...a complex task.

(Did Stark mention to her that he should have died? Stephen remembered one of his visions: her angry screams. Her tear-streaked face. Her lovely long hair cut short as an expression of grief.

(Her riding into battle to avenge him, to protect the kingdom he had left in her care.)

“He has you to help him bear any burden.” He smiled at her. “He needs to remember that.”

She narrowed her eyes at him, smiling.

“He has you, too,” she asked. “Doesn’t he?”

Stephen guessed that Stark had told her about his promise - to be there to help, always.

“I’ll only stay for as long as I need to,” he answered honestly. “Battlemages are...no good at setting down roots.”

He consciously withheld that he was aware Stark distrusted magic, and therefore he could easily wear out his welcome. Stark had never said it aloud, but Stephen could sense it well enough. 

“Does that mean you’ll be leaving us after the war is over?”

It was a strange thing to ask, but Stephen figured it was important for her own plans. “Most likely,” he told her.

She pursed her lips and nodded.

“Well...I hope you will have time to stay and enjoy the best our kingdom has to offer. We pride ourselves in our hospitality in Aven, especially here in Vers. I was born here, so I should know.”

She meant her well wishes. He nodded, thankful for her kind words.

Who knew that the suspicious little girl he met a long time ago, would grow up to be this strong, this gracious?

She turned to leave. But as she was approaching the door, she turned back to him again.

“There’s just...one other thing.”

She walked toward him.

He wasn’t expecting her to stop walking so close.

Or to lean forward and up, to touch her lips lightly to his cheek.

And to step back so he could meet his stunned gaze, the joy in her own eyes now blazing.

“Tag, Stephen,” she said softly, “you’re it.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stephen, Tony and Pepper encounter a master manipulator named Loki, who plants Ideas in their heads.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In this one, Stephen goes “OH YES, SEX, I’VE READ ABOUT THIS.”
> 
> Nothing very explicit because I’m not capable of explicit, but does venture into racy. So please be warned.
> 
> Unrelated: I love watching the AO3 donation counter go up. So life-affirming. /heart-eyes at it

That very day, he and Potts - Pepper, he could say now - devised a regular way to meet in private.

Stephen was tasked to stay in the palace during the following days, as an official wartime adviser to the King. Stark wanted to prioritize firming up their plan to travel to different kingdoms and ask other monarchs to join their coalition.

And now, with a Battlemage to open portals for the forces of Aven, making travel an instantaneous affair - there was no reason to delay planning.

However, the Knight Captain told the King that she and the Battlemage needed one-on-one brainstorming sessions on improving combat tactics. The King did not question it.

Thus, Pepper and Stephen secured for themselves an hour to meet, unmonitored and uninterrupted, in her office.

And in their first meeting, Stephen was able to ascertain that King Stark definitely did not recall his new Battlemage’s mother-name.

He did not know, either, that his betrothed _did_ recall.

“He can’t know,” Stephen emphasized. “He mustn’t remember, either.”

“Are you afraid he’ll use it to take advantage of you?” she asked. “He won’t.”

She sounded so certain. Of Stark’s goodness, his inability to bring harm to someone else on purpose.

“He’s impulsive,” Stephen pointed out. “His conscience drove him to go on a foolish journey to stop this war on his own. He could have died. Could have killed more people.”

“That’s different. _Now_ is different. You’re here.” She looked at him. “I’m here, too, Stephen. I won’t let anything bad happen. To either of you.”

Hearing his name in her voice still felt new. While reasoning was usually easy for him, he found himself at a loss as to how to challenge the things she said.

How could he tell her that Stark was a wild card? That he made it difficult for Stephen to see the future clearly, which could easily mean Stark would make some unwise decisions?

Like, say, using Stephen’s mother-name against him. Or worse - against others who didn’t deserve the wrath of an emotionally compromised Battlemage.

He could see she loved Stark. Would never think ill of him.

It made him a little...envious, if he was going to be very honest with himself.

“Please,” he decided to say in the end. “Just trust me. Maybe there will be a right time for it. It’s just not right now.”

She was dissatisfied with that answer, he could see. But she finally agreed.

 

***

 

“The presence of a Battlemage will no doubt make them pay attention. As long as you’re there, they’ll listen to what we have to say.”

King Stark was pacing as he thought aloud. He was addressing Stephen, without directly looking at him.

There were other people in the room, seated at the long conference table - knights, scholars, advisers. All occasionally eyed Stephen sidelong, with a measure of fear; this did not escape him.

Only the King and his Knight Captain didn’t seem afraid in the least.

“You may need to pull a few rabbits out of your hat to impress them. By the way, is wearing a cone-shaped hat off the table?”

“It most definitely is,” Stephen replied with a mirthless smile. “But I understand, some leaders may need proof. So I can cast a few spells, if necessary. Nothing harmful to others, or too powerful, or humiliating to me.”

“A fireworks display could work,” Stark remarked thoughtfully. “They don’t need party tricks, after all. They need a show of _power_. Something that’ll convince them that Thanos can be beaten if they join up...”

He trailed off. His advisers whispered anxiously among themselves, tossing ideas between each other.

Stephen decided there was no time for ideas. He slammed his palms onto the tabletop, and silenced all whispering thus. He rose to his feet.

“I have just one requirement,” he announced in the nervous silence that followed. “Potts needs to come with us.”

The whispering began again. Both Stark and Pepper stared at him.

“Out of the question!” Stark exclaimed, as if Stephen had just declared something ludicrous. “No. The kingdom will fall apart without her. She has to stay.”

“You were about to suggest that we change our plans from forming a coalition to drive Thanos back, into making one that seeks to eliminate him altogether,” Stephen divulged. “I need someone else to tell you that’s a really bad idea.”

Stark bit the rest of his objections back, mortified. As if Stephen had read his mind.

“You’re suggesting I can’t listen to reason?” Stark asked in a low voice.

“I’m suggesting three heads are better than two,” Stephen calmly replied. “I foresee that we may need to make many important decisions in a hurry...and I also foresee we’ll be butting heads quite often. We’ll need someone on hand to mediate so we can decide faster.” _And, on occasion, keep us from killing each other,_ he wanted to add...but that would have angered Stark unnecessarily.

Stark glanced at Pepper, and Stephen understood the look in his eyes as he did. That look said: he just wanted her safe.

“I do have other advisers,” Stark argued. “It doesn’t have to be her. If they’re needed back in Aven urgently, they can take a quick portal back - “

“We don’t need just _any_ adviser,” Stephen said. “We need someone you’ll actually _listen to_. And from what I’ve heard, your majesty, it is _very_ hard to engage your attention if one must disagree with you. Knight Captain Potts is someone we both respect enough to heed.”

Then, in a wry voice, Stephen added, “See? Butting heads already.”

Stark was about to retort, but Pepper, who was seated near to him, reached out and laid a hand on his arm.

This made him fall still immediately.

“I want to go,” she told him, in a gentle voice that somehow carried across the cavernous room. “I can leave my generals to handle the day-to-day affairs here. If they need me, Strange can send me back. Right now, it’s you I need - and want - to be with.”

Stark stared at her. The sound of her voice steadied him: that much was obvious.

Stark pulled away from her calming touch, and addressed Stephen directly:

“Some risks aren’t worth taking, wizard. I hope you know what you’re doing.”

Stephen knew he had to project an air of authority - to not let on that his blurred visions of the future made it less easy to decide on matters such as this.

The fact was, he hoped he knew what he was doing, too.

 

***

 

He wasn’t expecting the mission was going to be easy.

But the complications made it far away from easy.

“The complications,” in Stephen’s reckoning, could actually be boiled down to a few very simple things:

1) He was attracted to Pepper.

That she knew his mother-name, and he knew hers, made this exceptionally tricky.

He knew that when they were alone together, and he whispered her name, to make sure no one else could hear, a light shudder went through her - a familiar shudder, which he often experienced himself -

\- when he heard his name from her lips.

They kept their hands off each other for the large part, but sometimes it couldn’t be helped - the sides of their fingers would touch, and Stephen would feel a hot flush climb up his cheeks, from his collarbone.

But she was betrothed - a fact that prevented any interaction from escalating.

Add to that: her intended had a _terribly_ strong protective streak when it came to her. He had faith that she could protect herself well enough against sudden enemies, yes...but he bristled at the very idea of her going out into situations that deliberately risked her safety and well-being.

As well as, Stephen presumed, at the very idea that she could possibly be attracted to someone else.

\- which, incidentally, led to complication #2:

2) He was attracted to Tony.

Tony - the King - was not only possessive with people he trusted - he was also touchy with them.

And their many weeks traveling to many different kingdoms, covering for each other during situations that ranged from mildly amusing to downright deadly, gave the three of them plenty of time to become comfortable with each other.

Stephen wasn’t entirely sure how it happened. Since they met again, after all those years, he and Stark found themselves at each other’s throats quite often.

It turned out that Pepper’s calming presence really _was_ the balancing factor they needed, and Stephen’s gamble paid off.

It was just that Stark, smart as he is, and about as stubborn as Stephen could be, brought out the argumentative asshole in him.

But where the arguments ended, the touchiness began.

Stark would sometimes lay a hand on his shoulder, or on his thigh - and Stephen would freeze. It wasn’t an unpleasant touch, no, not in the least, but -

The hand would stay there longer than warranted. Certainly longer than Stephen would count as simply friendly.

And, for reasons Stephen’s largely isolated brain could barely fathom, sometimes that hand would even _squeeze. Repeatedly._

The sensations would shoot small jolts of pleasure up Stephen’s brain.

Ironically, he couldn’t even think of a way of telling Stark to stop without betraying that he liked it.

And he couldn’t even call Stark by his mother-name.

3) His attraction to both might compromise his ability to keep them alive.

Sometimes, the Knight Captain of Aven would pull out her sword and do something calculated and brave. Stephen would marvel at it for a second - just a blessed second - before he came to and realized it was a second he couldn’t afford.

Pepper needed backup, and he _was_ backup - he needed to save her ass before it fried.

And sometimes, the King of Aven would say something terminally dumb, and Stephen would have to bail him out. This tended to occur in the presence of egoistic foreign monarchs who definitely did _not_ appreciate someone just as self-centered (if not more) sassing them out in front of their own subjects.

Stephen would plead Stark’s case - and more perceptive people would notice that he bargained too desperately. As if Stark’s life was tied to his own, somehow. As if his very existence relied on this man _not_ being beheaded under whichever laws he happened to have broken.

The desperation was a liability. Most of the time, the three of them would get out of the mire Stark’s sharp tongue had put them in through sheer luck. Then, “You _moron_ ,” Stephen would snap at him afterwards.

Stark would only laugh at him and walk away.

And.

Ultimately.

The King and the Knight Captain were betrothed.

Which meant there was no room for Stephen in their lives.

Furtive looks, sensual touches, and lightly flirtatious words aside.

 

***

 

“More perceptive people” happened to include Loki, the Prime Minister of the Kingdom of Asgard.

Brother to King Thor of Asgard, and all-around pain in the ass.

Stephen elected to spend more time with Loki because he needed to be closely watched; Aven wanted Asgard’s might to help them go up against Thanos - but if the Prime Minister was a treacherous snake, certain problems were foreseeable.

Unfortunately, it seemed that sticking close to Loki also brought up problems of their own.

“Have you talked to your King lately?” the seedy Prime Minister asked. “Because I don’t think like he’d like this.”

Stephen frowned. “Like - what?”

“This.” Loki made a vague gesture with one hand. “You...me...the stars above...the cold night air...”

Stephen just realized then that he had followed Loki down a long garden path, and they were standing in the middle of a small bridge over an artificial stream.

And yes, holy hell, there were stars.

It would appear that Loki had led him somewhere romantic on purpose.

“I’m suddenly feeling a little chilly.” Loki even made a show of wrapping his arms around himself. “Can I stand a little closer to you to warm up?”

“No.” Stephen protested, a tad too loudly.

Loki chuckled.

“Seriously, the two of you are so obvious,” he remarked, as his laughter trailed off. “Well, _he_ is. You’re just oblivious, I think. Or...maybe you know, but you just have no idea what to do about it?”

Stephen chose not to answer. He wasn’t taking love advice from a possible spy.

“I hear that Battlemages live secluded lives until it’s time for them to go into war.” Loki casually slithered up closer to Stephen, who held his ground. “Does that mean you’ve never...you know? Ever?”

“What are you - ” Stephen caught himself and shook his head. “- guess what, I’m not talking about this with you. We came here to negotiate the use of your Valkyries.”

“Well, that, and other things,” Loki said, grinning. “It can’t be all business, Strange. You’ve been shadowing me for so long now, you must know that’s not how I work.”

Stephen knew. He just wasn’t prepared for this being the non-business topic on the table.

“The old texts say that Battlemages are free to choose which monarchs to be loyal to. They could change allegiances, as they saw fit - whatever it would take to finish their mission. No one can stop them; no one has the power to try. Yet you’ve chosen to side permanently with King Stark. Why?”

Loki’s voice was always somewhat oily, but here it took on a tone that was exceptionally troubling.

“Aven is a central kingdom, yes, and one of the most prosperous in the continent...but there are stronger sovereigns. More ambitious ones. Or more charismatic ones, like my brother. They could form a coalition much more quickly. All Stark is, is _smart_.”

“He has a good heart,” Stephen responded. “A heart that doesn’t seek to conquer. That’s exactly the opposite of what Thanos has.”

“Yes, but tactically speaking,” Loki corrected, “a good heart wins no wars.”

Loki slowly walked ahead, to the other side of the bridge.

“You’ve been watching me,” Loki said, as he passed Stephen. “But I’ve been watching you, too, Battlemage. I think you and the King of Aven share a bond, one that doesn’t begin and end with strategy. And I think you should do something about it. Accept it or refuse it, it’s up to you. But do _something_.” He turned and faced Stephen. “Otherwise, it’s going to destroy everything you’ve worked so hard for.”

It sounded like a prophecy, and it sent chills down Stephen’s spine.

Loki dabbled in magic. Everyone knew this. The Prime Minister of Asgard had a natural talent for it, though not enough to be chosen as a Battlemage. Moreover, he preferred the thrill of spycraft and intrigue, and did not have the patience required for mastery of the mystic arts.

Were these words, spoken just now, a product of magic?

“Think it over,” Loki said enigmatically, as he walked on, leaving Stephen the choice of whether or not to follow.

 

***

 

“You and the Prime Minister have been spending a lot of time together lately.” Stark wasn’t looking at him. “Are we going to have to leave you here?”

Stephen fell still.

“What do you mean?” he asked.

Stark put down the wrench he was holding, picked up a hammer. He was in a makeshift workshop in the Asgardian castle, working on a prototype grain thresher that Aven had promised Asgard as a token of goodwill.

If Stark was in a workshop, it usually meant he wanted to be left alone. Still, he had summoned Stephen, allowing him to infiltrate that sacred space.

Stark must have been mulling these words over for a while. It was important to him to get them out.

“Asgard is a powerful kingdom,” Stark rattled off. “Thor is a good king. If a Battlemage stayed here and made it his base of operations, it would be easier for him to put a coalition together. Loki must have told you that. Aven just needs to supply the weapons - Asgard can provide the rest.”

Loki? Okay.

Stephen saw what was going on here:

He wasn’t the only one whose head that mischievous snake had gotten into.

“That’s absurd,” Stephen quietly rebutted. “You’re upsetting yourself for no reason.”

“I’m not upset,” Stark said. Yet his hammer fell onto metal with even more force.

“Then why are you behaving as if you are?”

“I don’t know.” Stark put down his hammer, put his palms down on the table and leaned the weight of his shoulders down on them. “I’m acting like a jealous lover and I don’t know.”

 _A lover?_ That was an unexpected term.

“The funny thing is,” Stark kept saying, “I always thought it was Potts I’d be jealous of. I’ve seen how you look at each other.”

 _And you never noticed the way I look at_ you? Stephen almost snapped back. _Probably not as smart as you think, then, are you?_

“But I’m not jealous of the two of you at all. What you have between you - that doesn’t bother me as much as you spending as much time with the Prime Minister of Asgard as you do.”

“It’s different,” Stephen carefully answered. “With Potts. She’s your betrothed, I would never...”

“No.” Stark raised a hand - a gesture he learned as a royal, meant to stop arguments (often ignored by Stephen, but that never stopped him from using it). “This is ridiculous. Forget it. We have more important things to deal with. You know what? Just let me know if you’re staying anywhere, and I won’t stop you.”

Over their many months traveling together, the many kingdoms they had visited, most of which they had successfully recruited to their cause (at times thanks to a handy fireworks display, or two), Stephen had seen the King of Aven in a snit. Usually when he was tired or frustrated. But this did not feel like an ordinary tantrum.

“Stark,” he said slowly, “I won’t betray you. _I can’t._ You have something...very precious to me. Which no other sovereign does.”

Even as the words left his lips, he realized:

That was it.

What Loki meant.

The very reason why he couldn’t leave Stark.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Strange.”

“My mother-name,” Stephen said. “What is it?”

It was Stark’s turn to fall still, this time. His arms tensed up.

He faced Stephen squarely.

“How should I know?” he demanded.

“You know,” Stephen simply said, walking up closer to him.

Stark backed away from him, until his back was against the nearest wall.

The angry expression on his face did nothing to halt Stephen’s approach. Stephen stopped only when he was close enough to lay a hand on Stark’s chest.

“You know,” Stephen said one final time.

Before he pressed his lips against the King’s.

Everything fell away. Stephen found himself mentally going back to the moment when, as children, their lips touched by accident.

A moment frozen in time, unfrozen only now.

When he gently pulled back, hand still on Stark’s chest, he saw that Stark wore an expression similar to the one he had worn as a child - the large eyes. The shocked expression.

But this time, Stark did not move away from him. He put up a hand to touch Stephen’s cheek - at the exact same spot, Stephen recalled, that Pepper had kissed.

“...Stephen?” the King said in disbelief, as if seeing his Battlemage for who he was, for the very first time.

 

***

 

Now Stark - Tony - knew his mother-name. And knew that Pepper knew it, too.

Tony finally had power over Stephen - at least, the power of knowing that only he, of all the monarchs in the continent, had a name to safekeep.

Stephen expected matters would be resolved.

But it had the complete opposite effect.

It began to feel like they were walking on eggshells around each other.

It was almost absurd.

Stephen bristled to think this brand-new awkwardness might have been Loki’s doing, all along. Maybe they shouldn’t have come to Asgard. Maybe they should have moved on to another kingdom sooner.

Knowing each other’s mother-names was normally not a problem if the people involved couldn’t be romantically intimate - sharing mother-names was mainly a matter of _trust_ , not sex.

But for some reason...

This was perhaps what his master had called “the curse of the young.” Lust. Hormones. Normal bodily desires that Battlemages avoided _precisely_ by isolating themselves from the world.

Of course, Battlemages of the past had had to deal with it. They had, in fact, left explicit written instructions on how to avoid it, and they all boiled down to:

_“Never let anyone have power over you.”_

It was too late. He, the King of Aven and his Knight Captain were keepers of each other’s secrets.

But what now?

 

***

 

“I want to suggest a solution,” Pepper said. Tony stood near to her, arms folded, being uncharacteristically quiet and grim.

“To what?” Stephen asked.

“To this,” she said simply. “To us.”

There was no use playing dumb. After some hesitation, Stephen nodded to show he was ready to listen.

“In a week’s time,” Pepper began, “the city of Vers will host a month-long celebration to mark the end of harvest. This is a much-anticipated event. People come from far-off villages to give and take of the season’s bounty. Even visitors from outside of Aven come to participate.

“My proposal...is that we all return to the palace in Vers for the harvest festival. We leave some of Aven’s diplomats and generals here, and take the month for ourselves. To rest. To...figure things out.”

 _“Figure things out”_ sounded ominous. It sounded like Pepper was suggesting the three of them spend more time together - a notion the reclusive magic user rejected on impulse.

“Thanos’ armies have been slowing down,” Tony pointed out. “We can spare some time.”

“Yours will be the last word on this.” Pepper again, addressing Stephen. “There are things you can see that we cannot. You would know best.”

“But if you ask me, you need your rest, too.” Tony looked Stephen square in the eye. “You haven’t been sleeping well. Plus, you’ve been losing weight. You could use a serving or two of Aven’s famous harvest dishes. Or three.”

Stephen considered all of this. They were right - things had slowed down. There was a chance to unwind a bit: why not take it?

“All right,” he conceded. A bit of rest didn’t seem like a bad idea.

 

***

 

The harvest festival in Aven: a joyful, colorful time.

A time for celebrating the fruits of one’s labors. The good weather. Family. Fertility.

Stephen wondered exactly what it was he’d said yes to.

The extroverted King of Aven insisted that they spend as much time with each other as they could. This meant he often went out to join in festivities, dragging two introverted people along with him.

Stephen, who didn’t normally drink, was not allowed to refuse wine when offered. And so, more often than not, the three of them would retire to the palace late at night, drunk and laughing.

And frisky.

They were six days into the festival, when Stephen noticed that Pepper and Tony no longer bothered to hide their impulses from him. They used to be more discreet about it, but the more time they spent with each other, he supposed, the less they felt like there was a point to discretion.

They must have discussed him when they were alone together. Stephen counted on it. They needed to know how to deal with him, while he figured out how to deal with them, by himself.

On the sixth evening, Pepper was on Tony’s lap. Tony’s hands were wandering over her slender body, and Pepper, eyes closed, was starting to let out small moans that made Stephen really, really uncomfortable.

“I should - “ Stephen began, standing from the table and moving toward the door.

But Tony reached out and grabbed the part of Stephen’s silk tunic that covered his right arm. And the playful gleam in his eye showed that he had no intention of letting Stephen leave.

The same gleam was in Pepper’s eyes. She stood from Tony’s lap and took Stephen’s hand.

She led both men into the King’s bedroom.

 

***

 

Stephen knew next to nothing about sex. There were books and books about it, yes, and like a normal red-blooded creature who could read he’d spent a fair amount of time on them when he was younger...

But there were simply more interesting things to learn, more urgent matters to contemplate. Add to that: there was really no one else around who could serve as a target for obsession. The longing wasn’t a torment he was familiar with.

How was it going to happen? Who was expected to initiate? How was he expected to act?

He did not have the first idea.

He worried about it, naturally - until he realized he didn’t have to.

 _Pepper_. Knew what she wanted, and knew how to get it. She was strong, graceful, _limber_ and soft. She guided him gently, her cool, smooth skin leaving the sensation of fire all over his.

“Beautiful Stephen,” she murmured, and his hands steadied when he touched her.

 _Tony_. Was generous - with himself and with praise. He took pleasure in pleasing others. As he was in public, he was in bed: every gesture, every word came from his heart. He gave freely and held nothing back.

“That’s it, Stephen,” Tony commanded, “come for me,” and Stephen _did_.

The two of them already knew each other’s bodies. It felt, that first night, that they were discovering Stephen’s, exploring what it could and could not be made to do.

It felt that way the second night, too. And on the many nights after.

 

***

 

Stephen began to look forward to their trysts.

Sometimes only one of them approached him. Sometimes he approached only one of them. But if it happened at night, there seemed to be an unspoken agreement the three of them would share the same bed. Or floor.

At the same time, Stephen began to feel afraid.

They had power over him.

He had power over them.

But he feared it wasn’t enough.

He began to fear there wasn’t balance - that he had become a mere plaything to them: an awkward, spindly creature they found wandering in the woods, and decided was amusing. Something to break the monotony of their togetherness. Something to keep for fun.

He was, first and foremost, their Battlemage. There only to help them win a war, then vanish.

Was he risking that by sharing their bed?

In the end he would have to leave. They were betrothed. There was no room for him.

“Love you,” he heard Tony mutter, close to his ear. Tony was holding him from behind.

Pepper was in Stephen’s arms, well within earshot. Surely Tony had meant to say that to her, and surely she must have heard.

Pepper touched his cheek.

“Stephen?” she called.

“Mm?” he responded sleepily.

When he opened his eyes, he saw Pepper smiling affectionately at him.

She whispered, “You’re supposed to say ‘I love you, too.' ”


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The final battle approaches. Stephen's ability to clearly see the future returns, and he sees only one way for this battle to end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apparently, my longfic writing muses know only two modes: FEVERISH TYPING UNTIL THE STORY COMES TO A CLOSE, and letting installments languish for months.
> 
> This fic is being crafted under the first mode. Technically, this is where the story ends. But there's an epilogue incoming.

At the end of the harvest festival, they returned to Asgard.

More perceptive people noticed the changes.

“So, it looks like you and the King are no longer bickering as much,” Loki cheerfully noted. “And have you noticed the Knight Captain? There’s just this _glow_ about her today, isn’t there?”

“They’re not what we’re here to discuss,” Stephen pointed out, attempting in vain to set the conversation on the right track.

“And what about you, my friend?” The teasing in Loki’s voice was relentless. “You look different. _Bolder._ More comfortable in your own skin.” He looked Stephen up and down appreciatively. “Mm, the three of you must’ve really needed all that time off to ‘rest.’ “

Stephen glared. He wouldn’t put it past Loki to have spies at other kingdoms’ royal palaces. Stephen just resented the thought that he’d been too distracted over the past month to catch any of them.

“Don’t presume to know everything, Prime Minister,” Stephen warned.

“About you? I would never presume anything. You Battlemages are a secretive lot.” Loki flashed a smug smile. “But about human nature, in general - I can say I know a fair amount.”

They were in an empty meeting hall. Loki walked toward the nearest window, looked out of it casually.

“Seriously, I don’t get what the big deal is. It’s just sex,” he flippantly said. “But things are much _clearer_ now, aren’t they? Not just between you and the King. But about what needs to be done.”

Again - something that sounded like it came out of a divination spell.

Or maybe Loki just knew how to tailor his words to unsettle anyone, even a Battlemage.

After a pause, Loki continued, suddenly deathly serious: “Thanos’ forces slowed down a month ago because they were mobilizing for a large-scale assault. We got wind of it only yesterday. Word is that they’ll congregate in Knowhere in a few days, then push through Benatar Valley and across Fury River to get to Aven.

“Our messengers have been moving nonstop between kingdoms, ensuring the coalition will be ready to intercept them. The hope is that none of our couriers will tip off Thanos’ spies. Your powers will be of great help there.”

“I understand.” Stephen’s mind was already busily working: rigidly scheduled portals for the messengers. Camouflage and deflection spells. “Thanos mustn’t be allowed to cross the Fury. We don’t have enough time to rally the kingdoms for a stand at Benatar, but the people there must be warned.”

“It’s done,” Loki disclosed. “We sent our swiftest messenger to Baron Quill yesterday. He sent word back that evacuations would proceed without delay. He’s also offering the Benatar’s elite squad to serve the coalition.”

Inwardly, Stephen winced: Benatar’s “elite squad” was a ragtag team of scavengers and mercenaries that Baron Quill had a special affection for. Formidable fighters, but not easy to control.

What he said aloud was, “Good. They can meet us at the western banks of the Fury once they’re ready. In the meantime, we should send aid to the evacuees.”

They would need all the help they could get against this coming assault. His visions told him that much.

 

***

 

But his visions told him much more than this.

They revealed, for example, that preparing for this massive assault was going to tax his magic. The spells that could help the messengers and Benatar alone would drain him.

He would need to isolate himself again so he could regularly rest and center - as much as he could afford to do, in the limited time that he had.

Loki had somehow hit the nail on the head: it had become easier for him to see into the future.

Since Tony remembered his mother-name. Since the harvest festival.

Since Tony and Pepper told him they loved him.

And he told them he loved them, too.

Isolating himself was going to hurt. He already felt physical pain at being apart from them for several hours.

Battlemages were born to be alone. Under normal circumstances, this sort of dependence, this weakness, would be unforgivable...

But the final battle was approaching, and he had no time to punish himself for something he was _not actually sorry for_.

And, as he kept it secret from them that Tony made his visions blur, he was going to keep it secret from them, too, that clarity had returned to him.

Because he did not want them knowing what he saw.

 

***

 

Tony and Pepper understood when Stephen said he needed to be undisturbed in the coming days.

They had their own work to do. They also knew that Thanos was arriving. Pepper had to muster her forces. Tony his machines.

They were only able to see Stephen again a week later, after he had rested from the fall of Benatar. And when they did, they found him slouched, still a little weak from the many illusion spells and portals that he’d cast to make sure every last civilian was out of the way of Thanos’ horde.

They immediately engulfed each other in a tight hug and warm kisses. As if the three of them had been apart for years.

“I’ve missed you both,” Stephen whispered, and to him it felt like finally emptying his heart of weight.

“We’ve missed you, too, love,” Pepper answered, tears standing in her eyes.

Recovery came faster with the three of them together. In just a day, Stephen found himself regaining full magical strength. They mostly discussed battle strategy, but it was their presence, more than their topics of conversation, that energized him.

Besides, it was impossible to stay too bleak with Tony present. His moods were infectious, and he was in a wonderful mood.

“Wakanda did their work,” he brightly relayed to them. “Remember when I left them some of my prototypes some time ago? And they said they’ll ‘think about’ joining our coalition? Well, Lady Shuri replicated those prototypes in record time. They’re being deployed under cover of night from the hermit kingdom, and should be on the banks of the Fury by the time we get there. We should have enough war machines for the fight.”

“Steph,” Pepper interrupted. “What’s wrong?”

She noticed that Stephen wasn’t ready to share their enthusiasm. But he didn’t know how to explain.

“There’s still a very small possibility of defeat,” he decided to say. “A part of me is afraid of that possibility.”

Tony leaned down and planted a kiss on his hair.

“No need to be afraid,” he said to Stephen, his smile invincible and brilliant. “We have you. We can’t lose.”

 

***

 

Stephen was gravely silent on the day that bards would later dub “the Battle of Fury.”

But then, so was everyone else.

This was the last stand. If they failed here, Thanos would be able to conquer Aven, and take control of the continent from a central position.

If Stephen failed here...

Here, his visions were strongest. Here, he could see what was fated to take place:

Wakanda’s weapons, improved from Tony’s prototypes in ingenious ways, would decimate the infantry. In the meantime, forces from other kingdoms had their own roles to play. The Hawk’s archers, for one, rained death on Thanos’ forces from above. The Valkyries were assigned to target Thanos’ personal army.

Stephen would see many other things: how he would use his own powers.

Who would emerge from the battle alive.

And who would not.

When the battle finally began, it was chaos. Stephen was able to make sense of it because he had seen it all before.

Tony, in a uniquely fashioned armor in Aven’s red and gold colors, mostly did not engage in combat; instead, he issued commands for activating the weapons he’d invented.

He was kept safe by the knights of Aven. And Pepper doing her duty was a sight to behold. She was light on her feet and unstoppable. The last thing that her enemies saw before they died was the flash of her sword, the fire in her eyes.

The temptation to hover over the two of them was strong. But the Black Widow’s armies, far to the north, needed assistance. Stephen had to be close enough to them to cast the wind-blades that would greatly reduce the number of foot soldiers they faced.

Elemental magic worked well for him in that area; he could cast powerful spells without expending too much energy. They were near the River Fury, an abundant water source. There was enough clay and stone to use for rock storms and walls.

For example - the long, tall earthen barrier that he put up between Thanos’ advancing personal army, and Tony and Pepper.

It was supposed to be the last barrier he would cast.

In a matter of moments, that barrier was supposed to be crushed to dust.

They were supposed -

 

***

 

Tony looked up, and saw that he was covered by a dome made of threads of light.

There were only two people inside the dome: Pepper and himself.

And Pepper seemed surprised to find herself there. A blink of an eye ago she had been elsewhere, fighting a general that was coming dangerously close to her King.

At first Tony thought they had been captured by an enemy mage - but the color of the light was familiar.

“Strange...?” Pepper murmured.

Together they looked up and saw him - floating in the air _outside_ the dome, red cloak fluttering in the wind.

Looking down at them with an expression that seemed too much like sadness.

 _“Strange!”_ Tony cried out at him. “What’s the meaning of this?”

“I’m sending the two of you home,” Stephen answered, and through the magical barrier, his voice echoed, as if it came from the bottom of a deep well.

“Why?” Tony demanded. “Why would you do that?”

Stephen paused for a long time. Tony began to think he wasn’t going to reply.

But eventually he said, “You two are important to the world after the war...more than I am.”

“That’s not true,” Pepper tried to argue.

Her voice was unsteady. Maybe she already knew there was no reasoning with him.

Both she and Tony knew what going home meant...

It meant they were leaving Stephen alone.

“Steph,” Tony quietly pleaded, “don’t do this.”

A heartbroken smile crossed Stephen’s face.

“It doesn’t work if you don’t use my full name,” he gently said. “Doesn’t count.”

He waved his hand, and Tony and Pepper were surrounded by light.

When the light vanished, they stood in the throne room of the castle of Aven - far, far away from the fight.

 

***

 

He lied, again.

His visions had indeed shown him their importance - but it would not go beyond this war.

They were supposed to die in battle. Struck down by Thanos’ own hand, after he had shattered the earthen barrier that Stephen had put up.

They would fall to the ground at the same time, holding each other close. Their blood would mix with the water and the dirt, and they would never get back on their feet.

Everyone would see.

Their deaths would galvanize the resistance.

Those still standing against Thanos would push back, harder.

It would be a brutal, bloody victory, but a victory nonetheless. Months later, not just enraged troops, but an entire angry continent would rise up and drive out Thanos’ armies.

After the war, bards would sing of the triumph they had paid for with their lives. They would sing of wise King Stark and his brave Knight Captain, their enduring love, and the blessing of their sacrifice.

Their mother-names forever lost in story and time.

Tony.

Pepper.

One was quiet, the other loud. But both were strong. Kind. Passionate. Brave.

One loved strawberries; the other was allergic to them. And they rolled their eyes at each other, but never intentionally hurt each other.

Stephen thought he had forgotten them when they parted ways as children. But he knew now that was not the case.

His heart must have been secretly saying their names over and over.

The pool was still for many years, but the pebbles that had been thrown into it, stayed quietly at the bottom.

Waiting for when they would meet again.

_Tony._

_Pepper._

Names of people fated to perish in this war.

Names of people whom Stephen loved.

Whom he would not allow to die.

 

***

 

Because Stephen stayed to fight, the bards sang another song after the war, different from the one in his visions.

They sang about the young, dark-haired Battlemage who rose high into the air from the dust of a shattered wall of earth - cloaked like a phoenix in lightning and fire.

To face the Conqueror head-on.

He did not face Thanos immediately. First it was his mages, his elite soldiers, who leapt at him all at once, to protect their chief.

The sky rained fire over that small plot of earth. The ground split apart, and opened up to a hellscape. All of the warring factions stopped to watch this fierce battle.

The Battlemage won over Thanos’ private army, but emerged from the battle weak from many wounds.

Thanos stood over his broken body to deliver the killing blow.

Everyone saw him fall.

But then, everyone also saw that Thanos was alone - with no mages or warriors to protect him.

That was when the lords of the continent rushed in for a final strike.

Thanos, the mad, murderous giant, fell quickly to a united assault. There was not much left of him, not even bones and flesh, when all was done.

His armies retreated after his demise. His remaining generals scattered to the winds. It would take time, but they would all be hunted down by coalition forces - each one eventually killed or exiled.

Historians would wonder why Master Strange saved the King and future Queen of Aven, at the cost of his own life. They would speculate that it was because during peacetime, the monarchs of Aven would draft and enforce the Accord: an agreement between allied kingdoms that would outlaw all weapons of war within the entire continent, until such time as invaders from other lands would call for their use.

The Accord would usher in a long, long era of peace, such as the continent had never seen.

Perhaps the Battlemage had seen this happen.

The bards believed that Master Strange had thought this future was worth dying for. And that was the story they sang.

That was the truth they spread throughout the land.

 

***

 

Pepper knew where to find Tony as soon as she came back:

He would be standing by the window of what had been Stephen’s room in the palace, looking out the large window to the east.

The east, where the Fury River was.

He cast an inquiring glance at her. She shook her head.

Like in so many days past, a shadow fell over his face, and he turned away.

And she stepped up to him, threw her arms around his neck, drew him close.

When the silence had become less heavy, Pepper brought up that she received communications from the Widow.

She said, the other sovereigns of the coalition wanted to know if Tony had changed his mind about the monument.

It was tradition, after all, to erect monuments to honor departed Battlemages, both fallen and victorious.

It was in service of memory: a story to tell future generations about how every great war came to an end.

Historians had already come to call Stephen “the Battlemage of Aven.” Therefore, if a monument was to be made to honor him, the King of Aven would need to announce its creation.

But Tony would not agree to one. Would never agree to one.

“He’s not gone,” he said firmly.

“Our scouts have scoured the area without rest,” Pepper said to him quietly. “Maybe there’s just no body to find.”

Hearing this sent a stab of pain through Tony’s heart, and it showed on his face.

He broke off Pepper’s embrace.

“When someone who knows my mother-name leaves, I can feel it,” he said without looking at her. “I felt it when you left to train to be a knight. And when my mother died. Both times were different.”

“And,” she ventured, “how does it feel now, for Stephen?”

Tony shook his head.

“I don’t know. I don’t know.”

Pepper approached him again, and he let her. She wrapped her arms around him from behind.

“We’ll find him, Tony,” she said softly to him. “Whatever it takes.”

He held her arms closer to his chest. They stood together quietly like that, as the light of day began to fade outside the palace.


	5. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Takes place almost a year after the Battle of Fury.

Stephen woke to someone whispering his name.

At first he thought he was back in the Sanctum - it was morning, and it was his master calling him out of bed.

But when he opened his eyes, he was alone. And it was quiet.

Sunlight was streaming through a large open window, in a room that was nowhere within the Sanctum.

Blearily, he took a moment to take stock of his surroundings.  He recognized the room: it was his old room in Aven.

But for one thing, the sheets that covered him were remarkably different from how he remembered them.

When he and Tony and Pepper spent the night here, the blankets were made of satin, or silk. This time they were made of wool. Thick and warm.

A sickbed? It seemed to be. He wore a heavy robe, as well - not to restrict his movements while asleep, but to serve as an additional layer against the night’s natural cold.

He did not have to wait long before someone entered the room to check up on him. It was a nurse - he could tell from her robes. She muttered a quick, unintelligible apology before rushing back out to loudly announce to anyone who could hear that he was awake.

In a matter of minutes, he heard footsteps fast approaching. Then, the door flew open, and both Pepper and Tony barged in.

They sat on either side of him. They each took a hand. The energy from their very presence flowed into him. Overwhelmed, he almost couldn’t hear the words they were saying.

All he knew was that he was in the presence of warmth, surrounded by love.

“How long?” he asked. His throat felt hoarse.

“A week,” Pepper answered. “But you were away for much...much longer than that.”

“It’s been almost a year, Stephen,” Tony disclosed with a sad smile. He held up his left hand. There was a ring on it - a simple gold band around the ring finger. “Things have happened. A lot of them.”

Pepper was smiling, too. A glance at her left hand showed a similar ring.

Stephen took a moment to digest this. Almost an entire year...

“A team of scavengers from Benatar found your body on the riverbank,” Tony continued. “They were going to loot your corpse, but one of them sensed you were still alive. They took a closer look at you. Seems they also fought in the Battle of Fury, so they remembered your red cape. And they brought you all the way back to Aven.”

“It’s a cloak,” Stephen corrected, slightly miffed: it was one of his most precious belongings from the Sanctum.

“Whatever.” Tony rolled his eyes at him. “The point is, you were found alive almost a year after the battle.”

“How?” Pepper asked simply.

Stephen paused, swallowed. “I don’t know...”

“He has healing spells,” Tony reminded Pepper. “Sometimes, he’s used them on himself.”

“That’s true,” Stephen replied, careful not to strain his throat. “But my body has to be stronger before I can use healing spells on...anyone. Including me. Weird, isn’t it?”

“It’s not weird, it’s Strange,” Tony chuckled, leaning down to embrace Stephen. “Everything about you is.”

After just a bit more talking, they fetched the doctors who had been attending to him. Said doctors were happy to report that he seemed completely fine - just in need of a significant amount of food and water. Plus exercise, to recover the strength in his weakened limbs.

He was welcome to stay in the castle during his rehabilitation. In the meantime, Tony and/or Pepper visited him several times a day, filled him in on what happened in the almost-year that he was gone.

They’d searched for him - daily, for the first months. But then the demands of leadership, and the task of helping allied territories recover from the scars Thanos had left, began to demand more of their resources and time.

There was also pressure on them to get married. The Accords were taking shape - a peace agreement jointly conceptualized by Tony and Pepper, but solidified by input from other allied sovereigns.

Yes, Pepper could sign the draft as a Knight Captain...but signing it as Queen would give Aven more political weight in its drafting.

Plus, before the war, they were getting married anyway.

“We never stopped searching,” Pepper assured Stephen. “Never stopped hoping.”

“We were pretty sure your annoying ass was still alive somewhere,” Tony supplied. “And that it would come back to us. I mean, who wouldn’t come back to this?” He gestured to his body, earning a punch in the arm from his spouse.

***

In the company of the two, Stephen’s recovery was quick. He was able to use healing spells on himself after a few days, and within a week’s time, he was able to perform strenuous tasks and walk long distances normally.

And, of course, share the royal couple’s bed.

Apparently, being married and coming back from a mysterious disappearance did not affect their mutual attraction in the least. For Stephen, it was like discovering himself and his two most beloved, all over again.

He was surprised, however, when at one point, one of them brought out a simple gold band, and slipped it on his finger.

It seemed to him like the sort of thing that should require prior discussion. Not to mention some sort of ceremony.

“Here’s the funny thing about Aven’s really old marriage laws,” Tony said brightly from his side of the bed, holding Stephen’s left hand up, admiring the ring on it. “You can marry any one person you want, as long as they’re of age...but you can’t marry two.”

“A royal decree to change that is in order, don’t you think?” Pepper, lying on the other side of Stephen, ribbed.

Tony rolled his eyes at her. “Why don’t _you_ issue one, huh?” he playfully grumbled. “Making me do all the work...”

As they traded quips, Stephen stared pensively at the ring on the hand that Tony was holding.

“I can’t accept this,” he said slowly, as if half to himself. “I’ll have to go soon.”

He had told them that. A few times already. There was no longer a great war requiring a Battlemage, and therefore he no longer had visions of the near future. He still had his magic, but most of them were offensive spells, which had no place in a peaceful world. Battlemages always retired quietly after they were no longer needed. To document their own stories, and to pass them on.

And they retired permanently. The next great war would occur some generations later, marked by the birth of the next Battlemage. By that time, the humans who had known the previous Battlemage, had all certainly died.

...which was why this gesture came as a surprise. He thought they understood.

“We know,” Tony lovingly assured him, closing his hand into a loose fist. “That’s why you have to take this with you. So you’ll have a part of us with you always.”

“So that you’ll _be_ a part of us,” Pepper said, laying a gentle hand on his chest. “Always.”

That word felt right. That word felt like a promise.

Stephen placed a hand over Tony’s, kissed the top of Pepper’s head.

“Always,” he echoed softly.

 

***

 

Tony had a _thing_ about not saying goodbye. He said he would never forgive Stephen for just suddenly disappearing that one time when they were 12 (even if he was, eventually, told the reason for it).

“There’s three of us you’re leaving behind now,” he said sternly to Stephen. “You do it right or you don’t do it at all.”

Stephen knew that if Tony had his way, the only real option would be “you don’t do it at all.”

But Tony was not in charge of all things.

“I wish I could stay,” he sighed, and not for the first time. “But it would be too difficult for me to leave once the baby’s grown. This is for the best.”

He leaned down and touched Pepper’s growing belly tenderly.

Her baby. Hers and Tony’s.

He loved the child already just for that.

“You could at least stay to hear her mother-name,” Pepper suggested - also not for the first time. She was absolutely certain it was a girl. A future queen.

Stephen smiled sadly.

“Tell her about me,” was his request. “Let her know I’ve loved her even before we met.”

Their last embrace was tight, and long. As if it was too painful to let go.

And when Stephen walked away, he kept his eyes straight ahead. As if it hurt too much to look back.

 

***

 

The Sanctum was exactly where he left it - protected by a permanent camouflage charm and invisible to the naked human eye.

His master was there, waiting for him. On her favorite chair in the sitting room, a cup of tea in hand.

She greeted him by gesturing for him to sit on the chair across from her. Which he did.

He remembered the comforting smell of his master’s favorite tea, the warmth of the fireplace.

And yet, it felt different. Less like home.

“Was it you?” was the very first thing he asked her. “Who saved me from Thanos.”

She took a sip from her cup.

“I have no idea what you mean.”

Despite himself, Stephen smiled.

“I blacked out as Thanos was bringing down his weapon,” he relayed. “That was the last thing I saw. Almost a year later, I was found on the battlefield. Someone must have rescued me, magically - and that someone must have been you.”

“You know that the previous Battlemage can’t just abandon the Sanctum unless the present Battlemage has died,” the Ancient One said in a patronizing tone. “Or, until a new Battlemage is born. So...are you saying that you died? I rescued your corpse somehow, then brought you back to life?“ Her brow furrowed. “Do you really think that’s how dying works?”

Her wryness almost derailed his train of thought, made him doubt himself...

But he caught himself just in time. This was how she had taught him to have faith in his own reasoning - by making him feel small.

She had also trained him to resist that feeling. He continued, “There have been accounts of magic drain so profound that the users did die. They were overtaxed and their hearts stopped. In very, very rare instances, they were revived - but they still needed to be placed in magical stasis for a long time in order to heal.

“So, here’s what I think happened: my heart stopped. You arrived just in time to shield my body from Thanos’ final blow, and to take it out of the battlefield. As the active Battlemage, you saw what needed to be done - and that was to stay out of the way. Let the armies do their work and finish Thanos off themselves. Then, you realized I wasn’t dead, so you kept my body in stasis, until I could recover my magic naturally.”

The Ancient One set her empty teacup down on the table after Stephen finished talking.

“You sound certain of all this,” she said quietly. “What is it that you want to hear from me, exactly?”

No confirmation. No denial.

“Why did you send me back?” Stephen asked. “The war was over. Wasn’t it time for me to return to the Sanctum anyway?”

The Ancient One linked her fingers together and stared into Stephen’s face. When he was younger, this always used to unsettle him. He was somewhat surprised to find that it didn’t, anymore.

He must have grown up quite a bit, in his time away.

“More often than not, after a great war, a Battlemage’s inner resources are depleted,” she said to him. “That goes for both magic and will. And that’s what the Sanctum is for - so a Battlemage can rest in isolation. Take care of their wounded heart in peace.

“Your heart and the peace it needed was not in the Sanctum, Stephen. You could not have fully recovered here.”

She proceeded to explain: Battlemages were raised in seclusion, trained to discipline their minds to withstand and control the most tempestuous impulses, channel them into magic. That was how she grew up, and that was how she raised the two other Battlemages before Stephen.

But after centuries of doing everything by the book, and failing twice - the Ancient One realized the old ways no longer worked.

“I did it differently with you,” she said. “I let you go out into the world to experience it, to connect with others. If my own master had witnessed me doing it, he would have killed me on the spot for betraying old knowledge. It was a great risk - too great, he would say.”

“You meant for me to find them,” Stephen supplied. “The children in the woods.”

“I meant for you to find _someone_. Someone for whom you would break the rules I’d set.” She flashed her familiar half-smile. “You chose them, Stephen. I didn’t choose them for you.”

For what it was worth, Stephen said to himself, that didn’t sound like a lie.

“And when I found them...you trapped me in the Sanctum. Per the old ways.”

“Per the old ways, yes,” she acknowledged. “The seeds of love had been planted. All you needed after that, was training and time.”

“Love,” Stephen echoed. He meant it as a question.

“Love,” she said again, softly this time. “Love was something we Battlemages have avoided. We have always seen love as a weakness - a means of control. And, as the most powerful mages in existence, we've needed to train ourselves to resist _all_ forms of control.

“We need to stay apart and above events, in order to bring justice to our unique gifts. The two who came before you...they were cold. Ruthless. Inflexible. And that was their downfall.”

“They died before fulfilling their mission,” Stephen pointed out. “I died, too. Doesn’t that mean I failed?”

“You fulfilled your mission,” the Ancient One corrected. “By taking out his defenses, you were able to cripple the Conqueror beyond hope of survival. Your armies simply...finished the job. Ultimately, it was you who ended the war.”

Stephen considered this. He knew that there were many ways to end war, and other Battlemages had resorted to them - force. Betrayal. Manipulation. Even assassination.

But ending a war not by personally ensuring the death or defeat of the persons most responsible for starting it - this was not conventional.

“Over many generations, the rules of warfare have changed. In order to ensure victory, it is no longer enough to have purpose, a singular goal. It is important to have something to protect. To have something to break the rules for.”

She smiled at him.

“That’s what love is, Stephen. And, ultimately, that is what will bring you the rest you need.”

She stood for a moment, faced the fire burning steadily in the hearth.

“There will be wars and wars,” she continued. “But the next great war won’t happen for a while yet. And with an active Battlemage abroad, perhaps smaller wars can’t grow. I daresay that with you out and about, this world will know a long era of peace - longer than it has ever known.”

“You,” Stephen ventured, “actually want me to go back out there?”

She blinked. “Yes,” she said, as if he’d said something stupid. _What else have I been talking about all this time?_

“But someone will need to stay and watch over the Sanctum,” Stephen argued. “The magic within these walls can’t be allowed to run wild.”

The Ancient One looked around. An expression of calm came over her face.

“This has been my home for a while,” she said. “I think I can stand to hang around a little longer.”

Stephen bowed his head. The Ancient One had never admitted tiredness, but surely she must be tired. It had been centuries. She had seen and done so much.

But she was also giving him a way out. And it hurt him, the very idea of not taking it.

He could go back. To Tony. To Pepper. To the little one, whose mother-name he had yet to know.

His lowered gaze led him to glance at the ring on his finger, and a burst of joy pierced through his heart.

He could be with them again.

As if sensing Stephen’s unspoken response, his master approached him. Laid a hand lightly on his head, as if in blessing.

“Live. _Love_ ,” she said kindly to him. “Then return here when you’re done.”

 

***

 

The return of the Battlemage to Aven was marked by celebration: an instant holiday as declared by the King.

Word of the Battlemage’s return also spread far and wide. Messages from allied sovereigns quickly reached Aven, mostly tending toward “Welcome back! _Why??_ ”

Of course, Stephen had a lot of explaining to do. Why was he not retiring? Was there another war coming?

And if not, but he was back, _not_ as a Battlemage, what was he going to do?

To him, and to the monarchs of Aven, the answer was simple:

He was going to live out his days in the court of Aven as an adviser. Later, the laws of love would change, and he would live there as a third monarch, another King.

With his diplomatic skill, Aven would grow even more prosperous. There would be no need for war, no need for the spells he knew. But there would be so many other things for him to learn, so much to catch up on and experience.

He would spend a lifetime with the people he loved the most, the children they would have.

He would be happy.

And in the end, when all promises were kept, all missions accomplished, he would go back to his secret sanctum, to retire as Battlemages were entitled to do...ready to tell his own story, to preserve it for those who will come after.

His well-rested heart would be filled with mother-names, and memories, and years.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THE END. Thank you for sticking with this thoroughly self-indulgent piece! This all came out in a rush and it’s been a wild ride. But I had fun and I hope you did, too!
> 
> Most of all, I really hope you liked it, @Arbonne!


End file.
